The Perfect Storm
by Willofthewisp
Summary: The elements just prior to COTBP that allowed everything to fall into place. w/e, j/e, n/e, and j/c.
1. Insolation

**Insolation: incoming sunshine**

* * *

><p>The enemy shrouded themselves in the trees. They knew the forest. It was a different kind of sea, Elizabeth thought, unable to take a step without sliding on a leaf or snapping a twig. She narrowed her eyes to search for human shadows behind the tree trunks, in fallen logs.<p>

"I see you!" she sang out into the woods, three words she would have preferred to call bravado rather than a lie. Absurd chills tingled her back, the sensation of a caterpillar or a long-legged spider crawling on her shoulder soon overcame her. Pausing to brush off the phantom critter, she heard a giggle out in the distance. Freezing, she held her breath to listen for it again. I can't see you, but I can hear you, she thought, a smirk growing on her face. She ducked a web and weaved through the brush.

"Aha!" she cried out. Nella Harper squealed, her grin showing off a few gaps where baby teeth had once been.

"Where's Fanny?"

"I don't know! I ran off and hid here and didn't see which way she went!" was the breathless reply. Extending her hand, Elizabeth pulled the child to her and continued deeper into the forest.

A fortnight had passed since she and her father arrived in Philadelphia, guests of Governor Thomas Harper and his wife Tabitha. Nella and Fanny, ten and eight, immediately drew Elizabeth into their world, and most of it consisted of the tallest, stoutest trees the latter had ever seen. They looked so much stronger than the palm trees back home, and Elizabeth found herself wishing at times Port Royal offered such a fairytale forest in which to get purposely lost.

"Fanny!"

"She won't answer and you know that." Elizabeth smiled down at the child. "Fanny!"

"You just said she wouldn't answer!" Nella giggled.

"You. She might for me. Let's look over here." It had to be they didn't consider her a woman, she thought. More than a head taller than either of them, they still viewed her as a girl, an equal worthy of playmate status. Twenty years old and still a child. She pouted at the thought.

"Don't worry, Elizabeth. We'll find her!"

"Of course we will," she said, shaking off the notion. Fun was fun, no matter what the age. She caught a hint of white behind a tree. Kneeling down in a huntsman's position, she motioned for Nella to do the same. Placing her finger to her lips, she made the girl follow her eyes to the spot. Gesturing for her to go one way and herself to go the other, they broke apart in an attempt to surround the tree. Elizabeth held up her fingers. One. Two. Three.

"Fanny!" Nella shrieked, arms out in front of her. She pounced on her little sister and the two of them fell to the ground laughing like a pair of hyenas.

"I thought you'd never find me!" Fanny said, brushing grass stains onto her white frock.

"If you keep doing that, you'll really blend in next time." Elizabeth pointed at the dress.

"Oh no! Come on. You need to see the nest."

"Oh yes! She'll love that!"

"What nest?" Running after them back towards the governor's mansion, Elizabeth spat some hair out of her mouth, unsure if she'd dodged the spider web this time.

"At our castle! Oh, Elizabeth, it's so lovely! The eggs will hatch most any time, Mother said!" The forest gave way to a groomed field with a large, winding oak in the middle. Someone had built a spiral staircase around it, letting the girls explore every branch up close without having to actually climb into it. It was all an old, twenty-year-old playmate could do to keep up, Elizabeth thought between breaths, her feet pounding on the steps. They weren't quite at the top, which was a railed platform with a turret, but close enough. Nella and Fanny squatted.

"There," Fanny whispered, pointing. Elizabeth peered down and saw the small nest further into the tree.

"You haven't frightened the mother away, have you?"

"Oh no, not at all. Mother and Father Bird come here all the time. Here's one of them coming back now."

A small brown bird, a sparrow, judging by its plainness, swooped down and positioned itself in the nest, covering the eggs.

"The birds here are so peaceful compared to at home," Elizabeth sighed.

"What are they like in the Caribbean?"

"Scavengers, utter scavengers. They're seagulls, mostly, and they could eat all day as much as they wanted, whatever anybody threw to them, and they still wouldn't be satisfied." She followed them back down the staircase. "The pelicans and cranes aren't so insatiable, but the seagulls don't know when to stop." She could almost see the white outlines hovering over the harbor, the diamond-and-sapphire sea behind them.

"You look homesick," Nella said.

"I'm having a wonderful time with you." And it was true...just like the previous statement.

"Tomorrow we'll make the Caribbean here!" Nella said. "Isn't that a good idea, Fanny? We'll paint up palm trees and we have this enormous blue blanket and the toy ships! We can go to the lake and launch those!"

"What about pirates?" Fanny asked, biting her finger on the way back to the house.

"What about them?"

"Who will play the pirates and who will play the navy?"

Elizabeth laughed. "If I'm going to be a pirate, I'd rather not worry about the navy. We can go find some treasure instead."

"But your book said it didn't know of any pirates who actually buried treasure," Nella said, her brow furrowed.

"There's no reason why we can't. I'll have Estrella hide a treasure out here tonight and make a map for us to follow. But first we'll launch our ships in the river. How does that sound?" The girls adored the book. What was supposed to be a cautionary tale against piracy instead made it seem like the most coveted lifestyle imaginable, _The Perils of Piracy_, written by a privateer, no doubt, Elizabeth had thought when she'd first picked it up. Soon, after they finished that one, she would share her latest, a published list that someone converted into a book of all the notorious pirates in the area. Her father had given it to her as if he'd given her a talisman. No doubt he assumed the scant excuses for biographies would steer her away from her fascination, that the brief, vague descriptions would help her choose the right sort of company. That was a laugh, she thought. If she ever got close enough to a pirate to identify markings and match descriptions, she'd be dead before she could tell anyone about it.

The governor's mansion reminded her of home, a massive white columned house that could easily fit in with the Roman Forum. The back door opened into a cozy nook precisely for the girls' coats, boots, and other outdoor necessities. Silhouettes of the adults came into view as Elizabeth pinched her skirt up to make it up the last small hill. Amused faces—that was what she liked most about Governor and Mrs. Harper; there was no path they had set out yet for their daughters. They were fine with them being exactly who they were and judged them on their own merit.

"We thought the three of you had disappeared," Governor Harper said, bending down and dusting off Fanny's shoulders.

"I overestimated my ability to find such excellent hiders," Elizabeth said, feeling the warmth of the inside of the house on her cheeks. The crisp air of the evening had given them an extra ruddy look, she noticed in the mirror from the corner of her eye.

"You all look like you could do with a hot drink and some quiet time by the fire," Mrs. Harper said, nodding and trying to decipher what her girls were saying as they desperately tried to talk over everyone else on top of the servants helping them into clean shoes.

"Elizabeth, dear, this came for you while you were out."

"What's that, Father?"

"A letter from Will."

It was only after she plopped down onto a floral-print sofa in the sitting room did she realize she hadn't thanked her father for the letter. Tearing it open, she inched closer to the candelabra on the adjacent table.

_Dear Miss Swann,_

_ How good of you to write to me while you and your father are visiting. Nella and Fanny sound like dear girls, and they are lucky to have such an enthusiastic visitor. Had you ever met them before? Port Royal remains unchanged save for the heat. Summer has certainly come early. It's only April and it already feels like August. There aren't as many people walking about during the day, naturally. Enjoy the rest of your trip and God speed on the voyage home._

Flipping it over, she scowled at the blank back. She'd written pages to him. The appearance and demeanor of everyone, the environment, the activities, how good it was of the Harpers that they hadn't held a ball or any lavish social event—and this general, formal...she couldn't even think of what to call it since it was decidedly not a letter in the truest sense of the word. Miss Swann again. Never Elizabeth. Her fluttering heart had calmed into disappointment.

"Bad news?"

"No," she said, looking up at her father. "Will's never been the talkative sort."

"He knows his place." Governor Swann sat on a high-backed chair, ready to open a book, when he looked at her again. "He is also rather soft-spoken around you. I'm sure he just didn't know what to say."

Elizabeth smiled. Will had always been liveliest when they played. Anything from ten pins to a card game could turn into a passionate, competitive adventure, and he showed affection through his actions as well, fashioning iron shoes for her as a joke one birthday, another giving her a ball and chain for when they pretended they were prisoners escaping a medieval dungeon. Conversations had always been one-sided. Why should letters be any different?

"Elizabeth?"

"Nella, you startled me!"

"Could you..." She looked over at Fanny, who was holding the book out towards her.

"No _Perils of Piracy _tonight?"

"We think we know how to be pirates now," Nella said. "We want to pick out ones to be tomorrow."

"Are there pictures?" Fanny asked.

Elizabeth picked up the book and shuffled through the pages. "No, I'm afraid not. But we can pretend, can't we?" The girls took that as an invitation to curl up on the sofa next to her, Fanny climbing onto her lap and adjusting between Elizabeth and the book. Governor Swann chuckled to himself as Elizabeth gave him an embarrassed smile.

"Are there lady pirates?" Fanny asked.

"I'm sure there are. We'll look through..." The printing was small with little breaks between the text. Punishment for reading it, Elizabeth mused, skipping the introductory pages. She read out loud in a muffled, storybook tone, wondering if she should take on an accent for the more foreign-sounding names. Fanny picked whatever pirate they were reading about at the moment to be, always changing her mind with every page turn. Nella raised her eyebrow and pursed her lips in thought, more selective in her choosing, speaking only once to say she wanted to wait until they'd gone through the whole book. While reading the book at many times felt like greeting old friends, Elizabeth could feel her throat begin to dry up, and her eyelids grow heavy from the work.

"Last one for right now. If you don't choose, we can pick up where we left off at breakfast." Clearing her throat, she turned the page. "'Jack Sparrow has not committed any acts of crime or debauchery infamous enough to warrant the attention of the authorities in recent years, however, failure to attract the eyes of the Royal Navy does not mean failure in other regards.'"

"I want to be him!" Fanny cried.

"I thought you'd picked Ammand the Corsair?"

"Oh," she giggled. "Go on."

"'Upon refusal to deliver precious cargo to contracted destination, Jack Sparrow was branded a pirate and eluded several agents of the East India Trading Company. His insidious nature prevented him from killing said agents as he preferred humiliation, often tricking them into switching clothes and then leaving them indecent in...'" She turned the page and read ahead, her eyes widening.

"Where?" Nella asked.

"Somewhere...it doesn't say," she said quickly. "'The most notorious act, without a doubt, would be the sacking of Nassau port. Contaminating not only his soul but prized and beloved literature as well, Jack Sparrow mysteriously fashioned a large wooden horse and left it just outside the fort. Hauling the enormous eyesore into the fort, he was able, with only four other men, to sack the fort under the cover of darkness, taking priceless riches. The ignorant officers were promptly replaced." She burst into laughter, placing a wrist over her mouth to contain herself.

"You have to be making that up," Governor Harper said, entering the sitting room with a cup of tea.

"Upon my honor!" she said, regaining her composition. "Hopefully your garrison here has a fundamental knowledge of what happened to Troy." Grinning, she continued. "'Take caution upon meeting him. Jack Sparrow is a dark haired, dark eyed man estimated to be between thirty and forty years of age and can be identified by the standard brand placed either on the arm or the forehead, and several scars and tattoos, notably one of a bird and sun on his forearm.'"

"Can you paint tattoos like that on us?"

"Girls!" Mrs. Harper hissed from across the room.

"They'd be painted on, Mother," Fanny argued.

"We could wash them right off. Please, Elizabeth? We want bird tattoos. Like the ones in our nest!"

Suddenly exhausted, Elizabeth let her back fall back against the sofa, nodding her head without speaking. A bird flying towards a rising sun. That's how she imagined it, anyway, some carefree creature soaring towards the unknown, towards discovery, towards legends. Placing the book onto the table, she folded her hands into her lap after the girls clamored off of her, suddenly homesick.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I do not own POTC. This story is not going to be very long, so you have been forewarned. **


	2. Bluster

**Bluster: to blow in stormy gusts**

* * *

><p><em>Dear Will, <em>

_ That's a shame to hear about the weather. Father and I will be here at least another fortnight before we journey home, so I'm sure from what you've said May will be unbearable. Although by the time you receive this, there will only be one week left before we depart. Today..._

Will read the first three paragraphs before he realized his hands had been sweating onto the paper. Cursing himself, he reached for a dirty rag hanging over on a pegboard with some tools and wiped his hands. Smudges appeared on his knuckles, but so far his palms were clean. Taking no chances, he put on a thick pair of gloves and held the letter up to a crack of light shining through the beams in the wall.

El...Miss Swann always wrote in such a way it seemed she was right there, letting you in on every detail. Philadelphia sounded quite beautiful compared to here, cleaner anyway. Tonight he would have to write her a longer letter. But time and monotony were against him, he thought, glancing around at the empty smithy. It was nearing closing time and only the sounds of ladies chatting at the milliner shop next door found their way into this sword-filled prison. _I miss you_, he'd wanted to write after every sentence. That would have least made it longer.

The creaking door and hawing of the donkey made Will snap to his feet, a conditioned behavior he loathed. Mr. Brown staggered in and hurled a bottle into the corner.

"Clean that up." Nearly anyone but Will would have needed a translation, the slurring and coughing its own language. Brown collapsed onto a pile of hay, pulling an object out of his pocket. Soberly, Will thought, his jaw dropping as he reached for the dust pan and broom. Side-stepping to avoid the shards of glass, he lowered his gaze just enough to see it was a necklace. Three rubies mounted onto a gold rectangle dangled from the gold chain. Will's brow knitted. Business had been slow for ages...there was no way...

"Give it back!"

Mr. Brown snorted. "Turner, take the order and then get that glass picked up."

"You drunken oaf!" an elderly lady squawked, wagging a bony finger at him. She hobbled into the smithy on a knotty cane. Trying not to stare at the hairy mole on her nose, Will searched for the color of her eyes, lurching back when he saw one blue one...and one completely clouded over. "Give it back to me this instant!"

"We had a deal," Brown belched. "The kettle for the necklace."

"You were a month late on that kettle! That makes the deal null and void!" Even her cane shook with rage. "No one else on this entire island would think he deserved pay for being a month behind."

"Mr. Brown, the policy is..."

"Hush your mouth, boy! Last I knew, you were still the apprentice and I was still the policy-maker around here." He fell back against the hay and folded his hands across his belly. "Haven't you ever heard of 'better late than never'?" He snickered to himself and closed his eyes.

"I need that necklace," the woman whispered, her voice about to tremble. "Please."

"Mr. Brown, she could just give us whatever you charged for the kettle..."

"Damn it, Turner! Folks is trying to sleep around here! Be gone, hag, before I bring the law into this."

"They'd side with me and you know it!"

"Then go do your cackling someplace else and leave me be."

Will hurried out the door and caught up to the woman. She was barely tall enough to reach his chin, that clouded-over eye angling up at him.

"Madam, I apologize for that. My master..."

"...is the scum of the earth, boy, and don't you forget it."

"Might I ask you for the details regarding the deal? You could work out an arrangement with me." She seemed to smile at him, but her jowls made it hard to know for certain.

"Aren't you a breath of fresh air from that, that fiend in there. You know, that necklace was the last thing of value I had, but I needed that kettle. And now that it's a month later than I needed it, all hell is about to break loose?"

"I'm sure I could convince him to give you back your necklace in exchange for half of the original charge." Although I should be paying you to not let word of this get out afterwards, he thought.

"Hecuba Shepherd."

"Will Turner," he said after realizing he was hearing a name. After eight years in Port Royal, he thought he'd seen everyone. New faces were commonplace several years ago, but now a novelty as fewer people dared make the voyage, let alone settle in the island colonies.

"Walk me to my cottage and we'll discuss what to do."

Offering his arm, he let her walk a half-step in front to lead him to where she lived. The cobblestone and rock paths gave way to the sweet, soft grass and open sky. A few more hours south like this and they would be in the mountainous part of the island. Will laughed in his mind at how it was still a more appealing way to spend the rest of the day than working on the orders with Brown's snoring serving as background music. Sure enough, the terrain grew hillier.

"Not much more," Hecuba said, as if reading his thoughts. "Hills should be nothing for long young legs like that."

They trudged up to a long cottage with flower boxes and pink orchids growing between shrubberies.

"Why were you so badly in need of a kettle?" he asked, wondering if a witch had led him to a gingerbread house knowing he didn't have his trail of bread crumbs.

"Come in, come in, and we can talk some more." She tapped an iron kettle positioned in the fireplace, a few skillets and pots hanging on ropes above them. "You look so familiar. I'll think of it soon. How long have you been here?"

"Since I was twelve."

"Parents? Or is that wretch at the smithy all you've got?"

Feeling he'd doom Elizabeth Swann to some twisted fate, he simply nodded his head.

"A shame. Ah! I have it! There was another William Turner, strong, strapping young man."

"You knew my father?" His eyes widened.

"I didn't know him personally, but I knew of him. He'd returned that necklace to me once. Oh, a gentleman if I ever saw one."

"Wait," Will said, taking a seat at her table. "You've met my father? When was this? Where?"

"Where? Here! Oh, thirteen years ago, maybe. He didn't know how important that necklace was, no, sir. You see, after the bandits took it, Port Royal had its first hurricane in years. Miles and miles of devastation, the stench of death as pungent as the sea salt. But your father...they were enjoying some liberty...he saw who took it. Once everyone who sheltered came out, he didn't forget what those blackguards did to a poor old lady. He returned it to me in one piece and the weather here has been favorable ever since." She reached across the table and snatched his wrist. Jolting, he made a feeble attempt to pry himself loose, too afraid of hurting her to use any more force. "I'd never trade the thing, not even for food. It was meant to be collateral. If he'd delivered that kettle on time, he'd have had his money instead, but, well, I've got to live, don't I? I had to spend those savings." Like a child, she placed her head down on the table and sobbed.

"You believe your necklace controls the weather?"

"Make no mistake! And we'll stay in this confounded heat wave until I get it back, mark my words!"

Will's eyes veered in the direction of the door, a bright rectangle of light...and heat...compared to the shady coolness of the cottage. Digging his fingertips into the table, he prepared to stand and offer his best wishes.

"So when can I count on you to get it back?"

"Miss Shepherd, I shouldn't have left the smithy. Mr. Brown has probably already pawned your necklace. I'm sorry, but it isn't your property anymore."

"That's the answer William Turner's own flesh and blood gives me?" She placed her hand over her heart. "Dear boy! Give me your hand. Come, don't refuse me." Taking hold of his arm, Hecuba ran her palm over it, a rough massage in a way. Patience, he told himself. The door is only a few steps away. "There's dissatisfaction with you, although that much is obvious. I'd have ruined my other eye if I was apprenticed to that brute," she cackled. "There is a desire to prove yourself, to reach your full potential. Heroics, even?"

"What are you doing?"

"A sense of home and closeness. Well, we all want that, don't we? The winds of change are upon you, William Turner, and trust me when I say the heat they bring with it will be demanding. It will take at least a day once the necklace is back in my possession to end it, and so much can happen in one day."

"Miss Shepherd, let me go and I'll talk to Mr. Brown..."

"Ease the pain of those who toil out in this inferno! Make our island bearable again!" She stood, her body trembling at the weight of her own words. Her free hand shot up into the air. "You will be tested. You will be able to prove your worth, and gain all that you seek...but there is a price." She grinned at him. Backing away towards the door, Will stumbled back over the threshold out to the grass. All he could see inside the house was a swish of her skirt here and there, and a narrow, shark-like grin.

"There will be a price," she laughed to herself. "Magic always comes with a price."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The last line is Rumpelstiltskin/Mr. Gold's catchphrase on _Once Upon a Time, _but I find it applies to the POTC universe, too, and I love how ominous it sounds.**


	3. Saturation

**Saturation: a condition of the atmosphere in which a certain volume of air holds the maximum water vapor it can hold**

* * *

><p>Upon hearing the phrase, "hitting rock bottom," more than a couple of instances in his own life sprang to Captain Jack Sparrow's unique mind. He continued to lie on the sweat-stained pillow, staring up at the ceiling, acknowledging that at least this one had some semblance of comfort to it. He could hear only the crackling of the fire and the rhythmic breathing of Tia Dalma sleeping next to him. Sleep? He doubted she ever really slept. Inching over, he brushed her arm with the backs of his fingers, shaking his head. The way he knew her, it was like touching a snake.<p>

"'Fraid of bad dreams, Jack?" Coy, wide eyes snapped open at him.

"You did try to kill me the last time."

"But ya came back."

"I'm not coming back anymore."

Laughing, she showed her grimy teeth. Pulling a large bowl on the floor more towards the bed, she leaned over and brought a dripping sponge up to her neck. Moisture covered everything in this bloody place, he thought, even the air. The slime and sweat and vapors rendered everything as supple as her skin. In a way, he supposed it was some sort of karmic justice, knowing how the whores felt after he used them, but at least they were paid for their troubles.

"Ya don't get what ya want when ya come, Jack?"

"Tia Dalma, you never fail to exceed my expectations. In all respects, I might add. Last time, aside from your rather unusual brand of pleasure, was my compass. And the company this time has been the same as always."

"And so what do ya want?" She continued to bathe, her bare back to him.

"I want whatever it is required so I don't need to come back," he said, his grin fading.

"Some-ting amiss?" She turned and smiled at him with flashing eyes.

"Let's just say I don't like the way you taste."

Turning at that, she brought the sponge down to her legs and rubbed her washed arm across his face.

"Not one who like da taste of some-ting pure, I see."

"We must have different definitions of the word 'pure,'" he said, his fingertips lazily climbing up her waist. She swatted at him. "Give me what I want to know."

"Dat don't seem fair."

"Fair?" He frowned. "My dear woman, you have just been pleasured by Captain Jack Sparrow. That's worth this whole shack by my reckoning."

Sighing to herself and mumbling foreign words, he watched her throw on a velvet robe, the elaborate patterns and brocade suggesting another suitor, fool, really, had been to see her with a great deal more money. Perhaps he should have brought more than just himself, he thought. Next time he'd bring a gift. No, this was the last time. She was going to show him and then he could leave. Wiggling into his trousers, he nearly fell off the bed following her back into her main room where she stood over her hearth. Tripping over scattered bones...he preferred to not wonder about those...he peered down into the steamy concoction bubbling in her cauldron.

"Why ya still want dat ting..." she trailed off, but laughed, giving him a stained smile. He considered defending the _Pearl_'s honor, how the number of ships he'd been on in the last ten years fell dramatically short, but instead he ran his tongue over his teeth and fixed his eyes on the cauldron.

An image appeared. Tattered sails, chipped wood, and a few holes in the deck cried out to him. It was still the _Pearl_, still lovely, but the power he'd always felt behind the helm was replaced by the helpless feeling of watching an animal die. I'll come for you, he told it, wondering if it, if she, could hear him. Hold on and I'll find you. He tore his gaze from it long enough to leap to the table and grab a quill and scrap of paper.

"Ya never cease to surprise," Tia Dalma said.

"They're passing an island out there." Pressing the paper against the uneven bricks on the wall, he weighed it down with his arm, copying the outline of the coast.

"Even cursed da speed still dere."

"Then I will just have to find a ship that can match it for speed, won't I?" The pistol still holstered on his belt seemed to heat up, the bullet in it writhing in anticipation to be let out, to hit its target. No arrow would ever shoot truer, Jack thought. He hurried over to the crooked shelves of books, thick leathery tomes waiting to crumble into dust. The edges of the map he opened up to had curled and whitened, but the little section depicting his domain, his sea, still retained its bright coloring. Memorizing every angle and curve of the line, his eyes scanned until they found the match.

"Port Royal. Ya won't need to travel far."

James Norrington was in Port Royal, Jack swallowed, flashing her a smirk immediately afterwards. Not that he was afraid. Captain Jack Sparrow knew no fear. But one does need to be alive to reap the rewards that follow accomplished revenge.

A ship was the first thing he would need. He and Gibbs could arrange that easily.

"Ya'd never get to it in time."

"How's that?" he asked, puffing up his chest. He strutted back to the bed for his shirt, coat, and effects.

"Dem circling, like sharks."

"Why?"

"Fishing," she chuckled. "Dey dropped one."

"So it's only two medallions to find instead of one. I'm sure they'll get it back." To amuse himself, he contemplated who had dropped Barbossa's precious treasure into the ocean. He had a feeling Pintel and Ragetti had something to do with it. "Then they will take it to Isla de Muerta and then go gallivanting who-knows-where for the last one, so you see, I don't have time to be dawdling." Shrugging his coat up so the lapels covered his chest, he bent down and kissed her on the cheek as a husband might before leaving the house for the day. "It's a grand day when neither of us disappoints."

"Who says one of us didn't? Ya won't know what to do when ya get der, Jack. Lots of ships, but not so lots that can go as fast as ya need."

Just as he was about to head out the door, he cursed, spinning back around and greeting her with a smile.

"But something tells me I can get a clue to which ship I need, am I right?" He knew the answer. Now all that was left was to negotiate the price for the next one.

"I got stew to be makin' now." With her bare hand, she reached into the boiling water and splashed, wiping the image from history. Jack cringed at the action.

"Of course it's not a free clue," he added, strolling back over to her. "But as one with a record of paying you fairly for some trinket that fickle, feminine heart had its eye on, we could come to some sort of understanding, as it were, savvy?" Just don't wish for the moon, he longed to growl out. She grinned at him. Bugger. This would be far from simple.

"A crab."

"A crab!" He clapped his hands together. "_Tr__ès sophistiqué_! Just let me go get one of those traps, a line, and some crab bait, whatever that is, and we shall be breaking out the butter and lemons before nightfall."

"A certain crab. Ya must bring one back dat's got one claw only." She curled her finger at him for emphasis.

"Crippled crab, that rare delicacy," he heard himself saying. Bugger, bugger, bugger. Not even a lover would demand so much. About to go out the door one more time and embark on his new quest, his hands braced either side of the doorway. Damned curiosity, he sighed, knowing it would once again bring him trouble. "For what purpose does our poor crustacean gimp serve?"

"I'll need it da next time you're here."

* * *

><p><strong>Again, I do not own these characters or the movies.<strong>


	4. Cloudburst

**Cloudburst: a sudden, intense rainfall**

* * *

><p>The nights dragged and felt downright chilly compared to what she was used to. Wrapped in a thick nightgown with her dressing robe as well as a shawl, Elizabeth prowled the upstairs corridor like a ghost, the ticking of the grandfather clock and the soft sighs of Nella and Fanny the only sounds. It had been almost a month since they'd arrived and surely it was time to go home. Her heart twisted at the idea of staying for a prolonged amount of time, sure something, some unknown force of nature or twist of fate, would happen and she would miss it if they stayed any longer.<p>

In this quandary, she found her slippered feet on their way down the stairs. Propriety be damned, she thought. At this hour she would only run into a servant at the most.

"Weatherby, what we really wanted to know was...you tell him, Tabitha."

Elizabeth stopped just before the sitting room at the sound of Governor Harper's voice addressing her father. In a stunning moment of self-contradiction, she glanced down at herself clad only in her nightgown and squeezed behind the drapes, breathing thanks they were long enough to cover her feet.

"We were wondering if Elizabeth would like to stay with us a little while longer," Mrs. Harper said from the adjacent room. "The girls have taken such a shine to her."

"Yes, I must admit it is nice to see Elizabeth with some female company," her father said in that noncommittal tone years of politics had forced him to master. She rolled her eyes at it every time.

"Along those lines," Governor Harper cleared his throat. "Er, Tabby?"

"What Thomas wants to ask is, is she promised to anyone?"

Elizabeth's eyes widened.

"How did we arrive at that from mentioning female company?" her father laughed. She cocked her head just enough to look in the room to see him shift his weight onto his heels, hands behind his back, gently scoffing.

"Port Royal is still growing," Governor Harper said. "It's still primarily a port town, hence the name, Weatherby, old boy. The amount of fine society there must be staggeringly low compared to up here."

"If you're suggesting we're surrounded by apes, Tom, I can assure you Elizabeth's and my decorum are not exceptional."

"But how is she supposed to meet anyone?" Mrs. Harper asked with a tone so gentle it took Elizabeth several seconds to take insult. "She's twenty years old, and without ample, eligible young men to sort through, it would make it much more difficult to establish a match."

"For goodness sake, you speak of her as an old maid!" Her father's voice rose, she noticed, more clipped. Such a falling-out was not the way she had wanted to start the process of journeying home.

"It can't be helped, old boy," Governor Harper said. "There are few women there anyway and that sort of area attracts, well, men not quite right for marrying the daughters of governors." He held his hand up. "I have two of my own, you know. I understand the distress one can feel when it comes to their well-being. I couldn't handle governing such a place with them around. This would put your mind at ease and you could really focus on Port Royal affairs."

"You don't want to see her run off with some pirate, do you?" Mrs. Harper added. Elizabeth bit her lip.

"If you're implying..." Her father's back was to her, yet she could see his face reddening all too easily.

"I'm only implying that reading about them and romanticizing about them from a distance is one thing, but it's far likelier you'll see her in some pirate's arms than with a proper gentleman. Here, she can make an actual debut, meet people. Oh, please don't take it the wrong way, Governor Swann. We think the world of you and Elizabeth. That's why we're making this offer."

"As a matter of fact," Governor Swann said after a long pause. "My daughter is promised to someone."

Myself, she snorted.

"Well," he stammered. "She's not promised exactly yet, but the most unimpeachable, upstanding man I know has shown a keen interest in her. It should be very soon he'll ask me for her hand."

Elizabeth's hand flew to her mouth to keep from laughing at such a lie, but, chewing on her finger, she thought. Suddenly, years of going out and learning how to sail, playing chess, and strolling along the pier with James felt...tainted. She shivered.

"Who?"

"Soon-to-be Commodore James Norrington, the finest young man I've ever met. He's been practically part of the family ever since we'd arrived."

Yes, as an elder brother with a calm, dignified, sweet way about him, she wished to say, shaking her head. True, it took effort to crack his shell and stumble upon a dry wit and hints of a passionate nature, but to marry him? Shouldn't the idea of it have crossed her mind at least once in eight years? Did the very fact that it didn't make her the monster, or the potential union itself?

"While we're on the subject," her father continued. "Elizabeth knows a great many respectable people, and whatever she may lack in a social circle, she has more than made up for with her loyalty and her bravery. Staying in England would have been a curse for both of us after Catherine di—after what happened, and yet you decide the Caribbean has condemned her! I say it's made us who we are and it's high time we went back."

Tears welled up in her eyes. How could Father seal her fate and then praise as no one else ever had so quickly? Afraid of the drapes moving, she squeezed back out into the hallway and darted for the stairs, her slippers silent on the tiled floor. Reaching where the downstairs lamps couldn't, she crouched down again and waited.

"Weatherby, please. We, we didn't wish to offend." Governor Thomas hurried out into the foyer after her father. If they both chanced to peer into the darkness upstairs, they might see her. She held her breath. "We only wanted to help."

"I know, Tom, I know. It's just...the ideas you spoke of..."

"We would never want to upset you. Elizabeth is a fine young woman, and it's all because of you! We would never assume there was something wrong with her or that she lacked for character."

"Thank you."

"But may I be frank with you, Weatherby?" He neared him. "Marry that girl off quickly. Even sinners' eyes know a rare beauty when they see it."

"I thought you had said..."

"It's not just for Elizabeth I worry," he said, causing Elizabeth to raise an eyebrow. "She's a whirlwind of a woman. You know that. There always seems to be something smoldering in her. If you have any sympathy towards pirates at all..."

"What are you getting at, Tom?"

"Any pirate mad enough to love her would be consumed by her."

The two men's voices faded as they disappeared back into the sitting room and out of her line of sight, but Elizabeth remained on the step, trembling from what she had just heard.


	5. Eddy

**Eddy: a small volume of air that behaves differently from the predominant flow of the layer in which it exists, seemingly having a life of its own**

* * *

><p><em>Dear Will,<em>

_ I write the evening before we set sail for home. To think I shall have the possibility to see you in just one week. We've overstayed our welcome, somewhat, with the Harpers, but we've managed to stay on good terms with them. Father has decided not to push it, and they do say absence makes the heart grow fonder..._

Elizabeth would be back soon. A smile broke out across Will's sweaty, smudged face. Long hours by the fire and the heated metal with the blazing sun relentlessly poking through the cracks in the walls made the day drag. He'd talked once more with Mr. Brown about that necklace, using the same arguments again and again. Of course it was to no avail. The bloated knave gave out a gut-wrenching laugh and croaked that he would spite the old woman further still.

At least he keeps his promises, Will thought, recalling how the chain always dangled out of Brown's pocket, always with purpose. The darker regions of Will's mind wished he would go on and hawk it already and just go get drunk again; that way there would be no temptation to lift it from him.

Finishing a set of keys, he placed his tongs back on their spot on the wall and crossed over to where his water cup set on the table. Quenching his thirst felt more sensual in this heat, the cold freshness washing the salt from his upper lip, wetting his tongue for him.

* * *

><p><em>"Will? Will?" she hissed as he was about to go off with the other boys. He stopped, pale at her horrified face. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea these were the kinds of games...we can go."<em>

_ Once again, she'd talked him into going to the grand, spacious house of someone she called a friend of the family rather than a friend, once again trying to include him in her high-society life. The girl, a roly-poly creature with tight curls, giggled the moment the parents disappeared into the parlor. She pulled all the boys until they were an arm's length from the girls and explained the rules of the "game" in such a shrill, breathless voice his ears stung._

_ "Turner boy!" she sang. "Best get going. There are six young men and six closets, so we don't want to know which one you'll be in, isn't that right?"_

_ Making sure the other girls were talking amongst themselves, he pointed to the broom closet down the corridor. Elizabeth's embarrassed face nodded back. _

_ Running into the closet, he wedged himself in and sat on the small empty ledge with his arms folded. The secrets of the rich, he scoffed. If the apprentices and shop girls on his street knew he was in a closet, waiting for some repressed rich girl to find him and proceed to kiss him with reckless abandon, he'd never hear the end of it. Of course Elizabeth had had no idea what the day's entertainment was going to be. She was always so creative and could think of something better than such a silly way to have everyone in Port Royal between the ages of fourteen and twenty to unleash some affection._

_ "Are you ready to leave?" Elizabeth asked, opening the door only an inch, perhaps just in case she had the wrong closet, he supposed. "I'm so sorry."_

_ "It's not your fault," he whispered, tensing at the sound of a squeal coming from just above them. "You didn't know."_

_ "It's shameful that this is how they all spend their time, isn't it?" she asked her shoe._

_ "You don't spend your time this way. Do their parents know..."_

_ "No," she sighed. "That's the proverbial icing on the cake. The parents all sit in their safe little corner and assume we're all playing sardines." She frowned as she looked up at him. "Stupid me assumed that, too."_

_ It was a rare sight, Elizabeth ashamed, and of herself, he thought in wonder. Always too hard on herself. Something about it charmed him, made her eyes extra round, her lips all the more enticing. _

_ "Well," he said, clearing his throat. "I would hate to make you feel left out." He leaned down just a little and cocked his head towards her cheek. "May I, Miss Swann?"_

_ A speechless nod answered him and he pecked her cheek, lingering just long enough to take in the taste of her._

* * *

><p>I'm out of my head, he thought that evening, waving a sword around with one eye fixed on Mr. Brown. He was doing figures at the desk in that sloppy script that made customers wonder if he used a quill or a poker. A bottle was never far from his reach. Bide your time, Will thought, making more elaborate movements with the sword. Bide your time pickpocketing, he scolded himself. How low an old lady's words had made him sink. But to gain all he sought...the heat had to be responsible for all this. He couldn't think clearly, and besides, Brown had cheated her. If there was one thing William Turner could not stand, it was a bully.<p>

At last he heard the choked snores that had been unwanted background music for the last eight years of his life. The chain wobbled ever so slightly from Brown's pocket, almost beckoning to be taken. Tiptoeing across the smithy, weaving around boards and tools, Will reached for the chain and gathered the necklace in his arms as if it were a newborn. With the key to the smithy strung around his neck, he crept out the door under the cover of dusk.

"Miss Shepherd? Miss Shepherd?" Flickering candlelight made its way to the front windows.

"What in blue blazes...Mr. Turner! What are you doing here?"

Will held up the necklace.

"Oh, my gracious...you got it! In all my years...how did you ever...oh, thank you! Thank you, my boy!" She motioned for him to lean down so she could kiss his cheek. "Oh, thank you so much. Come in! Come in! You must be so tired after coming all this way just to return my property to me."

"I can't stay. I don't like leaving the smithy unattended for long." Will considered the smithy unattended under two circumstances: when it really was unattended and when Mr. Brown was there alone.

"I shall get to work taking this heat away right now! Mind you, it may take a few days. And it always seems that once the weather changes, some catastrophe hits. I don't mean a hurricane or anything like that. Goodness, that would be dark magic. But some strange thing always seems to happen one way or another..."

"I'm glad I could be of service to you," he said, interrupting what was regressing into babble.

"Once the sky grays and the four winds change, you'll be seeing some changes for yourself." She patted his cheek in such a grandmotherly way, he wanted to rest his head on her and pretend. "But always at a price, of course."

"Of course," he chuckled. "Good night."

* * *

><p>The next day, Will bustled about his business as usual, keeping his eyes on the sheet of metal he was hammering when Mr. Brown patted down the pockets of his apron. The man spun around scanning the floor, looked over at Will, and then shrugged. Whistling some sea shanty, he burst through the door and went about his business, whatever that was.<p>

As soon as he was out of sight, Will sprinted next door to the milliner shop.

"Mrs. York, could you mind the smithy for just a few minutes? Let the customers know I'll be right back?"

"Of course, lad! Glad to oblige," was always the reply. The shops of the main street knew who Port Royal's actual blacksmith was.

He ran down to the harbor, the piers surrounded by ships with heavy sails gravely still in the sweltering heat. He passed each of them until he saw one docking. Heart racing, he picked up speed and smiled at Governor Swann taking his time coming down onto the pier. James Norrington was there, back straight and hands behind his back, ever the proper gentleman. Will lingered, holding his breath as Elizabeth descended, her soft blue, almost gray, dress and loose waves of hair dazzling him. She didn't see him, not yet, but grinned and waved at Norrington.

"Governor Swann. Elizabeth. Welcome back."

"Good heavens, man, has it been like this the entire time we were gone?"

"I daresay it has." Elizabeth took out her fan.

"Father, order James to take off his wig before he suffers a stroke." They laughed, and Will found himself laughing, too. Practical, yet lighthearted, yet blunt Elizabeth, as he'd always known her. And she still managed to be the epitome of grace and refinement. Miss Swann, how good to see you, he practiced saying in his mind.

"Perhaps he would prefer to escort you to the carriage, dear," Governor Swann said, almost pushing her towards Norrington. Norrington and Elizabeth raised their eyebrows, his in surprise, hers as some kind of warning, as if telling her father he was in immediate danger of going too far, Will thought. He was sure he'd hear all about it once he approached her and they could have some time to talk. Miss Swann, I hope you had a pleasant voyage. I know how well you love the sea.

"Has anything happened since we left?" he heard her ask Norrington as they started for the carriage, stepping farther and farther away from Will. He took a step.

"Remarkably quiet, not to your liking at all."

"That's a pity. Two sweet little girls I'm fond acquaintances with now would have loved a letter detailing some kind of port town raid."

"I wonder who they sound like?" Norrington asked in a dry but merry way Will only ever heard him use around Elizabeth. Before he could even think of what to do next, they piled into the carriage and rode off towards the mansion.

Miss Swann, a strange affair with an elderly lady believing her necklace has magic powers compels me to kiss you and offer everything I have, which for now is just a heart, to you. About to hang his head, it rose. Tomorrow. He had to deliver the sword tomorrow! Of course the Swanns would not miss Norrington's promotion for anything in the world. He would see her.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay, I am no math whiz, but I'm operating under the logic that a fast ship could go from Jamaica to Philadelphia in a week. Therefore, when the letter reaches Will, it should be only one or two days before the ship. If that's not accurate...complain in a review. Sardines is a variant of hide-and-seek and I've heard more British people call it sardines than hide-and-seek, so I thought I'd use it here. The game in this chapter was an actual Colonial game, sort of the precursor to spin-the-bottle. Teenagers manage to find ways around social graces and etiquette in any historic period, I guess. The little bit about deciphering handwriting and wondering if the writer uses a pen or a poker is from _Howl's Moving Castle_. Two chapters left. I told you it would be short, although I think the last two are pretty strong. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and by now you should know I do not claim to own the franchise.**


	6. Outflow

**A/N: Even though Jack says "so there is a curse" in the movie, I had him know about the medallions and why the crew was returning them. The way I always interpreted it was that so many stories would have spread that Jack would have figured there was some truth to the notion of skeleton pirates running around, but still had to see it for it to completely sink in. I hope that's not too confusing. On with the show.**

* * *

><p><strong>Outflow: air that floats outward from a thunderstorm<strong>

* * *

><p>"Couldn't we just find one and cut off one of its claws?" Gibbs asked after passing an hour in the small rowboat with Jack.<p>

"That's a bit too much like giving a wicked queen a pig's heart instead of a girl's, don't ye think?"

"I don't understand it," Gibbs growled, shaking his head.

If he was going to be quite honest with himself, which he usually avoided, Jack would have agreed. The compass led them to this exact spot, a small lagoon with some surf, a miniature beach. However, he thought with a pout, it had taken a considerable amount of time to force himself to want some crab more than the _Pearl_. He snatched the compass out from his pocket and gave it another look.

"We'll wait a while longer," he said. "Keep your eyes on the sand. Might see one scuttling by."

"You said it's to get the name of the ship we need. If ye just went to Port Royal now, you'd have more time to just find out on your own." Jack didn't even have time to think of an excuse. "It's Norrington, isn't it? God almighty, ye may have been better off asking for some way to bypass him."

There was a thought. Leaning over, he dabbled the water with the tips of his fingers, splashing a tiny minnow zigzagging by. Captain Jack Sparrow shouldn't be anxious to avoid anyone, he told himself. It wasn't even fear, just that deadly knowledge that upon being caught, it would be straight to the gallows with some pitiful excuse for a trial beforehand and then nothing would change, except he'd be dead and Barbossa would feel a fraction more justified in captaining someone else's ship. Closing his eyes, he tried to recall every inch of the cluttered mass Tia Dalma called home, every spell and potion she had ever mentioned.

"She does have something like that," he whispered, pulling his hand out of the water, the tip of his coat sleeve wet. "Stay here for just a while longer. I need to go back to the shack."

"Hang on, what are you planning to do?"

"I walk in once she's gone, search the place, and then we leave." What if the spell requires a list of ingredients far rarer than a one-clawed crab? What if she never leaves? What if she forgets something on her way out and catches him ransacking her house and thusly turns him into a newt? Just as countless doubts began orbiting around such a simplistic idea, the details of it came to mind. With a less than graceful large step, he leaped out of the boat onto the surf, watching it wobble. It managed to stay afloat. "Mind the boat!"

* * *

><p>Off delivering something wrapped up in a basket to some villager. Typical medicine woman, Jack snorted, smirking almost cruelly as he crept into the shack. Candles and the fire gave the illusion of broad daylight inside, so he went to his knees and crawled around the table, his eyes fixed on a stack of undecipherable clutter behind it.<p>

Kneeling, he sifted through some rags, chests of claws and foreign poetry, models of ships, dolls, were those actual wooden shoes?...and a book that spent its days here instead of on the shelves with its brethren. Flipping through, Jack discovered quickly it was a dream dictionary. Page after page explained the hidden meaning behind every image and color one's brain could conjure. He swallowed. An old memory stirred and shoved all others on its way to the front of Jack's mind, discarded, but never forgotten. Before he could shake his head at himself, he flipped through until he found the entry "baby."

_To see a baby signifies innocence, warmth, and new beginnings. Babies symbolize something in your inner nature that is vulnerable, but not corrupted. To see a baby being born signifies a desire to be cared for._

Jack longed to exhale a loud "ha" at the meager explanation, once again not finding any answers. Because it wasn't just a dream, he justified. It happened. Somewhere in the world, it had really happened...

_His eyes snapped open and his head recoiled from the sweat-stained pillow as if it were a hot iron. Struggling to control his breathing, he sat up and stuck his head between his knees. In six days he would be fifteen and what just happened left him wheezing and clutching his chest. In sleep, he'd seen a woman he'd never seen before on a bed, a much more splendid one than his own. Four high posters supporting thick opened curtains, piles of once-immaculate sheets and quilts—sumptuous would have been the word for it had the woman not been screaming in agony. Her hair fell in front of her face, limp from the exertion. Maids surrounded her, their caps failing to cover the worry on their faces._

_ One of them, a bit older looking than the rest, squatted down at the foot of the bed, mercifully blocking whatever was between the bed-ridden woman's legs. He couldn't hear her voice over the cries, but it looked like she was shouting "push." A younger maid, the one who had been wringing her hands and pacing blurted something to which the others hushed her and led her out of the room. If he had known he was sleeping, Jack would have snapped his eyes open and ended it all there._

_ But the vision chose for him to stay, the screams more and more unbearable until another voice joined them. The older maid gathered a red, slippery bundle in her arms that was shrieking like a banshee. Jack couldn't listen to it, it made his heart stop, but the woman looked up with exhausted but loving eyes and held out weak arms to the baby. The vision started to fade just as someone's mouth moved to say "girl."_

_ Jack stood up and went outside, shivering in spite of the warm breeze._

_ "Jackie?"_

_ It might as well have been a ghost, he thought, staring wide-eyed at his mother. Her nightgown, shawl, and unkempt hair slung guilt at him on top of everything else._

_ "Did you have a bad dream, love?" She felt his head. "No fever, but you're soaked. Volete dirmi circa il vostro sogno?"_

_"No," he said, not sure he could even begin to describe it. He folded his arms and stared out into the field. Sighing, she nodded, kissed him, and mumbled something about taking him to a fortune teller if he wanted._

He'd rejected magic then. Out of stubbornness or being cautious, he asked himself, knowing far more magic existed in the world than he did when he was a boy. Whatever happened to what a man can do and what a man can't do? Standing upright, he adjusted his hat and hummed on his way out the door.

* * *

><p>"Well? How did it go?" Gibbs asked.<p>

"New plan, Mr. Gibbs. We shall be taking the_ Jolly Mon _for far longer than we originally planned. All the way to Port Royal."

"Anamaria won't like that."

"That cannot factor in. What you will do is, upon a short side trip to Tortuga, you will listen for any information regarding the _Pearl _while you wait for me."

"Wait for you to do what?" he asked, squinting and cocking his head.

"To tell you the rest of the details of the new plan," he said. How dare Gibbs assume he was making this up as he went along! It was so simple a child could do it, arrive in Port Royal, find the fastest ship around, and track that villainous Barbossa and his crew of traitors. As for just how that would all be accomplished, he would have to think some more.

"It's not in the best condition, Jack. Might do for a bit of repair once we get somewhere..."

"Then we shall find an island in-between where you can barter for safe passage to Tortuga whilst I proceed onward." It took a vast amount of restraint for him not to roll his eyes. "The _Pearl _is within my reach, our reach, if you remember that the title of first mate is reserved for you, and I intend to take advantage of the opportunities presented before me."

He would get his ship back. Captain Jack Sparrow would get he wanted, and what he wanted was his ship...and to get out of that bargain with Jones...and to live, really live...to experience something he had never experienced before.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The Italian in this chapter is supposed to say "do you want to tell me about your dream," but I used an internet translator and those things are known for being unreliable, so if I need to be corrected, don't hesitate to say so. Anyone know why I suddenly can't copy and paste on my documents anymore? I have Writer and can save docs as Microsoft Word docs, but for whatever reason, copy and paste are faded out meaning I can't use them. It's a little annoying and I'd love to change it. Any tips?**

**Judging from the way they interact and talk about Jack's plan, I always assumed he and Gibbs had been in close contact and it hadn't been years or anything like that since they'd seen each other. Also, since Gibbs said going after the _Pearl _was a fool's errand and yet pretty much commandeered it for his own near the end of the movie, I'd say he would be pretty game on finding a way to get it out from under Barbossa.**


	7. Conduction

**Conduction: the transfer of heat by molecular action between bodies in contact**

* * *

><p>Blasted fan doesn't work. Elizabeth pushed the lace on her sleeves further up, letting the air hit more of her skin. The corset seemed to cinch tighter than it did at the house. Breathe, she told herself, the coutil, whale bone, and laces rendering what should have been a simple action into a series of gasps. Staggering around the fort, she sought shade and perhaps a chair.<p>

"May I have a moment?" It was James, although his voice began to sound like an echo. Nodding, she closed her eyes with more force than she'd ever summoned before, wishing for tears, water of any kind. She let a demur movement of her arm sweep over her forehead. No sweat. She bit her lip. Following him out onto the battlements, out into the harsh sun, she flapped her fan more. Breathe. Her hand flew to her waist and clutched the fabric, her other arm bracing her against a turret.

"You look lovely, Elizabeth."

It hurt to smile, her face suddenly tense all over. The blinding sun must have been playing games with her vision, as even the sparkling water started vanishing. Widening her eyes, she was shocked to find out it made no difference whether they were opened or not.

"...a marriage to a fine woman."

Elizabeth willed herself to turn. Concentrate. Find his face. She found a blur, speaking in a gentle, nervous tone, but even that started to fade again. The weight of her body felt like several tons of bricks, with a chain dragging the load forward. A terrifying but incoherent realization hit her.

"I can't breathe," she gasped into oblivion.

* * *

><p>Jack inhaled, the sensation of exploding ebbing, only for him to sink back underwater. Gold swirls and floral patterns washed over him. Bloody thing'll kill us both, he decided, lowering himself down to the waist. In seconds she felt thousands of pounds lighter, like the gangly, slight creature she was. Coming to the surface, he took another breath, waiting for the touch of hers into his shoulder. Nothing. Kicking and paddling as much as he could with one arm, the dock couldn't come soon enough.<p>

The redcoats bustled over just as he finished hoisting her over his shoulder. Her limbs and hair and even her head knocked limply into him and he began to worry he was holding a corpse. They took hold of her arms and splayed her out onto the deck.

* * *

><p>Will finished his last delivery for the day, his mind still on the embarrassing, disastrous meeting at the mansion. How cold, how traitorous he must have seemed to Elizabeth, who had only wanted him to look back on that day, that fateful, blessed day, with the same fond recognition she had. <em>At least once more, Miss Swann, as always<em>. Good lord, he couldn't help but wonder if he hadn't pulled that sconce off their wall maybe things would have gone differently.

Coming onto the main street, a cold breeze flew by. Looking up, he raised an eyebrow at dark, gargantuan clouds looming overhead. A few discarded cans and crinkled leaves scattered along the ground.

"A change in the air," an old man sitting on a barrel remarked to no one in particular.

Out of nowhere, Will wished he could have added. He wondered if he was beginning to dislike coincidences.

* * *

><p>Her hair was matted and smeared across her face like seaweed. Jack didn't have to touch her lips to know how cold they would be. Not breathing still? From the corner of his eye, he could see a gaggle of uniformed men bounding towards the harbor. Enough of this, love. You're going to live for all the trouble you're about to put me through. He'd caught a living, flesh-and-blood human, not some fish meant to lay about on a deck.<p>

"Move!" They made room for him to kneel over her. Positioning himself, he bent over with his sword and split the corset in half, noticing how pale her face had become. Her eyes jolted open and water spilled out of her, instinct telling her to turn onto her side, her arms still limp. Realizing he'd been sitting on her, he brought himself up to a squatting position, knowing all too well how heavy her own legs would still feel to her. Each cough, each desperate search for air he imagined had as much meaning as a voice crying out "I'm here. I'm alive." They grew stronger, a good sign.

"Never would have thought of that," one of the redcoats said in a sheepish sort of tone.

"Clearly you've never been to Singapore," was the first thing that found its way out of his brain to his mouth. Feeling eyes on him, he almost smiled down to speak to her, when a glint of something nearby caught his eye.

* * *

><p>She couldn't stop shivering, or even her teeth from chattering, as her senses of hearing and touch returned to her. There was a dark sky and a man, a man she'd never seen before, eyes as black as two pieces of obsidian a governess once showed her. Soaked, the water on his face dripped down onto her, but she couldn't dodge it. She'd anchored herself on his eyes, letting the rest of life come back to her.<p>

"Elizabeth!" came a familiar voice after a chorus of sharp, metallic notes of swords being unsheathed. Father, she remembered, lifting up her head. He pulled her to her feet, his eyes and face more haggard than she'd seen in years. "Are you all right?"

The medallion, he'd asked where she'd gotten it. Thanking a Creator for giving her her mind back, she gazed down at her chest to see it still dangling there, adding an absent "yes, I'm fine" to the question as she tucked it back under her bodice.

Feeling the warmth of a coat being wrapped around her shoulders and the warmth of her father pulling her close, she at last looked around, secure in her ability to do so. Her jaw dropped a fraction at the sight of that horrid, ill-fitting corset in the hands of Murtogg, of all people, held out like he was reading it to a group of children. Dropping it, he blushed and pointed at the man. Elizabeth again thanked some Creator that a virgin hadn't found her, and then blushed herself.

"Shoot him!" her father ordered.

"Father!" she cried. "Commodore." James would see reason. "Do you really intend to kill my rescuer?"

* * *

><p>People were racing to the bridge overlooking the harbor. They ought to be getting indoors, Will thought, still wondering about a great many things.<p>

"Coo! Won't they put some clothes on her?" A middle-aged woman grabbed her two young boys and waddled with them out of sight.

"Always thought she'd look good," a man with several missing teeth said, ribbing another one.

"Governors' daughters always do."

Will set his jaw and marched forward, wishing for his sword. His nostrils flared as his ears burned with the same intensity if they had been talking about him.

"It's all right, Will," one of the shopkeepers said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It looks like they've got him."

"Got who?" The sight below made him wonder if destiny had seized him harder than he'd planned.

* * *

><p>They always left out "captain," Jack winced.<p>

"He said he'd come to commandeer one," that beady-eyed smaller redcoat said, trying not to be the same soft-spoken idiot from before, Jack thought, suddenly feeling betrayed. He'd remember that.

"I told you he was telling the truth," the fatter one said. "These are his, sir!" Mindless sheep surrounded him! Only the girl, Elizabeth, looked at him the same way as mere moments ago, like she knew it all along.

Norrington rummaged through his effects, making light of each one, paying no heed to the common courtesy of treating another's possessions with respect, he'd noticed, still debating in his mind if this dapper, wry fellow with quite a rich baritone was the same feared man cleaning the oceans with one noose at a time or not. It didn't make sense, but, in a way, it did. Pirates spoke of James Norrington, Commodore, as often as actors spoke the name Macbeth, and that sort of thing had to feed a man better than any meal.

"You are without a doubt the worst pirate I've ever heard of," he said, and with a smile.

"But you have heard of me." And what you have heard would please me very much to know, Jack thought, suddenly feeling like inviting the man to have a drink and learning what all they might have in common. But the Commodore had other plans, as it were, and led him toward the shackles.

"Commodore, I really must protest," the girl, Elizabeth...he never liked that name...said with an authority that rivaled her coughing. Throwing her father's cloak off, she hurried over to them. Warrior women in nothing but their undergarments, Jack mused. At least the day had given him some interesting...gorgeous...imagery.

"Pirate or not, this man saved my life." She inserted herself between them, more fire in her tone than he'd expected.

"One good deed is not enough to redeem a man of a lifetime of wickedness."

Ah, noble to a fault, although Norrington did look just a bit flustered. Jack's trained eye caught tells and facial movements the way hunters caught prey. It was almost amusing, watching the scourge of piracy deciding whether to follow his principles and impress his young love interest or to placate her and hope the decision touched her heart. Jack hoped for the latter.

"Though it seems enough to condemn him," he said, checking the distance between himself and Elizabeth. Close. Tantalizingly tempting, he thought, wickedly hoping he could enact a Plan B.

"Indeed," Norrington snapped. Well, that's it then, Jack thought. Freedom without jeopardizing the Commodore's precious scruples. One, two, three.

"Finally." He threw his chains over Elizabeth's neck and pulled her to him, a short gasp and a few heaves still nice to hear after wondering if she was dead moments earlier. Wet undergarments didn't feel as pleasant as dry ones, and her drenched hair was beginning to stick to his hands. This would have to be quick.

"Don't shoot!" her father cried.

"I knew you'd warm up to me," he growled. "Commodore Norrington, my effects, please...and my hat." He'd done it before, seen horror-stricken family members look to someone for guidance, said designated hero then weigh the dilemma. "Commodore!" At this rate, it was as if they wanted him to take her with him. She'd stopped heaving, her heartbeat steady...perhaps someone so nonplussed would be an asset.

"Elizabeth, it is Elizabeth, isn't..."

"It's Miss Swann," she snarled, chin pointed out.

"Miss Swann, if you'd be so kind." Those large, chocolate eyes widened, understanding the meaning as his effects were brought closer to him. "Come, come, dear, we don't have all day." With unanticipated gruffness, Norrington dumped everything into her arms, sending her backward. This would take some choreography, he thought, squinting at just how to turn her...there we go. He could bring his pistol up now, gripping it tighter at the fire in her eyes, the combative, resolute fire he'd seen in seasoned killers. Even more reason to hurry things along, he thought, fighting off a twinge of something akin to fear. He'd chained a phoenix in the guise of a delicate beauty, cunning thing.

She started with his hat, and he learned she was also a delicate beauty who looked absolutely marvelous when angry. He couldn't help but grin as she strapped his sword to him, really a hug under friendlier circumstances. Her father and the Commodore looked scandalized. Not telling either of you gents to do it, he thought, directing his grin at them for a split second. Then he flinched as her hands went a few inches lower.

"Easy on the goods, darling," he grunted, suddenly hoping she wouldn't feel what had formed there for some reason.

"You're despicable."

"Sticks and stones, love. I saved your life. You've saved mine. We're square." He turned her back around before she could argue, her mouth open just enough that he knew she would have. "Gentlemen, milady, you will always remember this day as the day you almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow!" He hurled Elizabeth to them and soon flew, oh to really fly, and landed onto the busy streets with screams and shots heralding his descent.

* * *

><p>Herded into the carriage, Elizabeth shivered, finally feeling the damp undergarments letting every molecule of cold air hit her skin. She'd felt so warm just seconds ago, a heat starting in her abdomen and climbing ever upward until it made her head spin. She held her head in her hands and let her fingers nestle in the tangles of her hair. Father murmured indecipherable words to her, the medallion knocked against her flesh with every bump of the carriage, and a man once safely limited to stories and reports suddenly broke out of the pages and lassoed her to him with his own chains as if laying claim to her.<p>

Nothing more than a scoundrel, probably no more unique or honorable than the rest of them, she sniffed, sneering at nothing. The unenlightened, overly cautious, heartless...it didn't matter what she had thought of them in the past because every inhumane notion she'd ever heard regarding pirates suddenly sounded incredibly logical. Bringing a pistol to her head. Demanding she dress him, her eyes widened at the amount of seething rage she felt. Placing her hand up to her forehead, she closed her eyes and inhaled.

He rescued you, you know, she told herself. Jack Sp...Captain Jack Sparrow rescued you, and you wouldn't be in here now able to complain about anything without that fact. Elizabeth didn't know yet if that made things better or worse, but she did know she was alive, and felt more alive than she ever had before. Glancing down at the medallion one more time and letting it dance between her fingers, she knew without a doubt there had been a change in the wind and she would welcome it, be it fair weather or storm, with opened arms.

THE BEGINNING

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. I hope you liked my little prequel of sorts. I realized I hadn't done this scene in a serious story and was super-excited to take it on and watch it over and over again. Well, again, I don't own the franchise, wish I did, and thanks again to all the reviewers.**


End file.
